I step into the January night and breathe Michigan air deeply, exhale a heavy stream of steam, and I see Aurora beaming at me with her green eyes and red nostrils. Magnificent. I hear geese honking their lungs out down on the Shiawassee River, and then I stare beyond Aurora’s icy glare, and I wonder: Is God laughing? Not at me, specifically, but is he laughing right now as you read this? Does he ever laugh at all? And if God does get giggly, why don’t we ever hear omnipotent laughter? And then, duh, I realize: If I open his book and listen carefully . . . .